


What I saw through the bars of my cage

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Pureblood Politics, the black family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22129669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sirius Black, from the first day to the last, and the many prisons he lived in.
Relationships: Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	What I saw through the bars of my cage

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. You’ve probably got the point by now. Enjoy the story!  
> Please comment/kudos if you can.

He is eight, sitting in his bedroom with his father. For once nobody else is here, and he revels in the calm his father brings. Orion Black is far from cruel, but he is still unnervingly cold sometimes, too distant for a decent father. No, it is always Sirius’ mother who yells, screams, tells him he’s _wrong wrong wrong! You’re doing it all wrong!_

”Dad, can you read to me?” he asks, and he’s still young enough to believe his father actually loves him. For once, his father says yes.

By the time his father has finished, Sirius is half-asleep.

”Love you, dad...” he murmurs, overcome with exhaustion.

”Goodnight, Sirius. Don’t let the monsters get you, son.”

”What monsters, dad?” Sirius asks.

”The one in this house,” he says quietly. As his father closes the door, Sirius wonders whether he means his mother or his brother. Orion never clarifies, and it’s the last time Sirius sees his father actually care for him. He wonders whether Orion feels claustrophobic in this jail of a family.

* * *

He is ten, talking to Andromeda about Hogwarts. She is the least insufferable of his three cousins, and Andromeda’s visits are a delightful change from the monotony of his mother.

”What house are you in?” he asks.

”I’m in Slytherin, Sirius. That’s the house you want to get Sorted into. The other houses are _terrible_ ,” Andromeda says.

”But aren’t Slytherins evil, and liars?”

”Don’t ever say that again, Sirius,” she says, looking around anxiously. “Especially not in front of your parents. Be a good boy and get Sorted into Slytherin if you know what’s best for you.”

”But what is best for me?”

* * *

He’s nineteen, and fighting a war he can barely comprehend. At least he’s got his friends - the Marauders will always have his back. There are other people as well - Lily Evans, soon to be Potter. She is warm and actually _listens_ when people have something to say, unlike Snivelly. Unfortunately, Lily won’t tolerate his war with Snape. Everyone had their flaws.

The first battle he fights in nearly gets him killed, and the Death Eaters prove remarkably effective fighters. Impressive when you consider that most of them are, like Sirius, barely out of Hogwarts. Lily isn’t pleased when he wanders home half-dead and bleeds all over the carpet.

* * *

He’s fifteen and glowing with pride, having just learnt how to become an Animagus. Even though they’d practiced over and over again, Remus had still worried himself sick over the Marauders’ transformations. The joy of running around Hogwarts unnoticed overwhelms the sickening dread of _what if something goes wrong?_

They’re teenagers, and they don’t care about the consequences. They’re teenagers, and they feel like they own the world. They’re teenagers, and any mistakes can be put on the adults. Nobody can lock them up now.

* * *

He’s twenty-four and rotting away in Azkaban, all the blame having been put upon the adult - him. Sirius knows he’s innocent, but his confidence in this statement is crumbling every day. Is he really innocent? Is any of this happening? Maybe this is all just a terrrible nightmare, and in a minute he’ll wake up at Hogwarts, safe and surrounded by friends.

When he kicks the wall, he doesn't wake up. He stays guilty. He stays locked up in this miserable, desolate cell. Remus stays gone, Peter stays a traitor and James remains so horribly, horribly dead. The prison of his grief, the foreboding walls of his mind are far more trapping than Azkaban.

* * *

He’s thirty-six and talking to Harry, James’ son. Remus is his friend now, and he’s finally got his godson back.

”Who was your brother?” Harry asks, and Sirius feels like punching someone. Alas, there is nobody in the room but Harry, and he must tell the truth.

”Regulus Black. He died in the war, killed by one of Voldie’s henchmen. Stupid kid. He should’ve left well enough alone.”

Sirius feels bile rising in his throat at the thought of his brother. Regulus, who was never there. Regulus, the golden boy. Regulus, the _perfect_ one. Thinking that makes him want to to throw up.

* * *

He’s fifteen, and he’s just run away from home. His last memory of that godforsaken house is of Regulus standing in the hallway, watching him go with pity in his eyes. Why would Regulus pity _him_? It’s not _Sirius_ who’s stuck in a hellhole.

Unlike his brother, the Marauders are actually there to console him. It isn’t Regulus who hugs him till he can’t breathe. It isn’t Regulus who steals hot chocolate from the house elves. It isn’t Regulus who offers to help with a particularly difficult piece of homework. As he rebuilds his life, Sirius makes sure to tear his brother right out of it. He doesn’t need Regulus anymore.

He’s torn through the old cage, and works on constructing a new one.

* * *

He’s thirty-six and Grimmauld Place is just a well-decorated cage. It’s better than Azkaban, better than his childhood, but it’s still a prison, even if his captor is wise and benevolent. _Damn you, Dumbledore. It’s your fault I’m here._

Kreacher is his resentful guard in a way, watching over his master. Checking for any signs of escape. Kreacher is also an amusement of sorts. Making the elf run around the house at his beck and call is a remarkably pleasing sight. It’s not as fun as being free would be, but it will do for now. 

He peers through the bars in his imaginary cage, but all he sees is dust.

* * *

He’s thirty-seven and at the end of his life, having wasted most of it on Azkaban. There’s not much left of him, just a bitter old - old? He’s not even forty. He’s just a bitter young man who couldn’t beat his cousin in a fight. Somehow, about to die (and he’s certain he will), he feels like a child again. As he falls through the Veil, he tries to come to terms with his death, but all he can think of is fear. He’d like to say he faced death with courage, but it was more a panicky confusion -

Everything goes blank, and he sees no more.


End file.
